"That's why not," he said.
And there was silence till Mrs. Brangwen came downstairs.
"Look here, Anna," he said, handing her the letter.
She put back her head, seeing a typewritten letter,
anticipating trouble from the outside world. There was the
curious, sliding motion of her eyes, as if she shut off her
sentient, maternal self, and a kind of hard trance, meaningless,
took its place. Thus, meaningless, she glanced over the letter,
careful not to take it in. She apprehended the contents with her
callous, superficial mind. Her feeling self was shut down.
"What post is it?" she asked.
"She wants to go and be a teacher in Kingston-on-Thames, at
fifty pounds a year."
"Oh, indeed."
The mother spoke as if it were a hostile fact concerning some
stranger. She would have let her go, out of callousness. Mrs.
Brangwen would begin to grow up again only with her youngest
child. Her eldest girl was in the way now.
"She's not going all that distance," said the father.
"I have to go where they want me," cried Ursula. "And it's a
good place to go to."
"What do you know about the place?" said her father
harshly.
"And it doesn't matter whether they want you or not, if your
father says you are not to go," said the mother calmly.
How Ursula hated her!
"You said I was to try," the girl cried. "Now I've got a
place and I'm going to go."
"You're not going all that distance," said her father.
"Why don't you get a place at Ilkeston, where you can live at
home?" asked Gudrun, who hated conflicts, who could not
understand Ursula's uneasy way, yet who must stand by her
sister.
"There aren't any places in Ilkeston," cried Ursula. "And I'd
rather go right away."
"If you'd asked about it, a place could have been got for you
in Ilkeston. But you had to play Miss High-an'-mighty, and go
your own way," said her father.
"I've no doubt you'd rather go right away," said her mother,
very caustic. "And I've no doubt you'd find other people didn't
put up with you for very long either. You've too much opinion of
yourself for your good."
Between the girl and her mother was a feeling of pure hatred.
There came a stubborn silence. Ursula knew she must break
it.
"Well, they've written to me, and I s'll have to go," she
said.
"Where will you get the money from?" asked her father.
"Uncle Tom will give it me," she said.
Again there was silence. This time she was triumphant.
Then at length her father lifted his head. His face was
abstracted, he seemed to be abstracting himself, to make a pure
statement.
"Well, you're not going all that distance away," he said.
"I'll ask Mr. Burt about a place here. I'm not going to have you
by yourself at the other side of London."